Such are some of the memories of Swarthmoor. By the time we had completed the inspection of the old mansion and the primitive-looking little meeting-house, impressive in its severe and unostentatious simplicity, the sun was rapidly sinking in the west, and the shadows of objects were growing longer and longer, as if drawing themselves closer to the earth; the dark range of hills looked solemnly down upon us, and night's sable curtains were gradually closing over the scene. Turning to depart, we retraced our steps and descended the rugged track which soon brought us to the bottom of the dingle again. Then mounting the opposite eminence we reached the highway, and a few minutes later were comfortably settled in a cosy room in the "Sun," at Ulverston. CHAPTER II. OLD ALDERLEY AND ITS MEMORIES--THE STANLEYS--EDWARD STANLEY, PASTOR AND PRELATE--THE HOME OF DEAN STANLEY. Men travel far to see the dwelling-places and the costly tombs of Kings and Conquerors in their desire to recall the memory and the mighty deeds of the great ones who have gone before, and surely the homes of those who have taught goodness by example to high and low, and shed a holy and a happy influence through their country, are shrines equally worthy of our homage. It is in that spirit, and with the desire to keep green within the sanctuary of the heart the memory of good men, that we enter upon our present pilgrimage. It is to the place where Bishop Stanley spent his happiest years, and where his son, Dean Stanley, passed his boyhood's days--the one, the "good bishop" who united in himself the apostolical charity of a Tillotson and the pastoral energy of a Burnet; and the other, that loving and large-hearted divine who so lately passed into his rest, and whose removal from our midst sent a thrill of sadness through the land, and moved the sensibilities not of Englishmen alone but of the world. [Illustration: DEAN STANLEY.]